


Castle on the Hill

by waitingondaisies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Cinderella Elements, F/M, Harry Potter as Cinderella, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-02-04 05:18:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12763983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitingondaisies/pseuds/waitingondaisies
Summary: Harry was used to how he was treated by the Dursley's; it was all he'd ever known. His life was an endless cycle of menial labor, unfair and excessive punishments, and brief rays of light when he managed to see his only friends, until one day a letter arrived that changed everything.





	1. Chapter 1

Harry woke with a start. He hastily rolled over to check the watch that he kept hidden under his measly stack of clothes; the face of the watch had been smashed by his cousin, Dudley, years ago and Harry had smuggled it away. Somehow, it still worked, though why it hadn’t quit running years ago was a mystery to Harry. 

Odd little things like that were a common occurrence for Harry, for instance, he kept a candle that Petunia had told him to throw out, in his cupboard for purposes such as this one, and despite months of continued use, the candle was still useable. It had been nearly completely burnt out when it’d come into his possession, and yet here it was, still useable. 

He finally managed to light the candle with a match and was able to see the watch to check it. Thankfully, the watch confirmed that he had continued his streak of managing to wake up early enough to get a head start on the food for the day. Occasionally, he slept in long enough that Petunia had to wake him up. Those were terrible days. 

Harry shook himself out of his reverie, and started to get dressed. The clothes he was taking off were hardly fit to be called clothes, being the rags that even Harry deemed unfit for daily apparel, though the clothes he was now pulling on were hardly any better.

Fully dressed, Harry stepped out his cupboard, making sure to close the door very carefully as the door was directly under the stairs and sound carried easily from this location up the stairs and into his relatives’ bedrooms. 

Walking to the kitchen, Harry began to plan the meals for the day. Many of the meals that Petunia approved of required hours of preparation, and therefore had to be started early in the morning to be done in time for dinner. 

Breakfast and lunch were much easier- he could make hotcakes and eggs and bangers in his sleep, and lunch was usually made from last night’s dinner leftovers.

Harry made it to the kitchen, and opened the cold box, a luxury item enchanted to keep food cold for days. He wasn’t sure how the Dursley’s had afforded it, but it simultaneously made his life easier and more unpleasant. 

He no longer had to make near daily trips to the market, giving him more time to complete his chores, but he also no longer had as many chances to see his only friends.

He pulled out the ingredients for bread, an item he made every morning, and pot roast, the dish he’d decided on for dinner, and began cooking.

Despite being the one to make all this food, Harry knew that there was very little chance he’d get to eat much of it. After his parents died in a carriage crash, he’d been sent to live with his aunt, uncle, and cousin, and his life had gone downhill from there. 

For as long as Harry could remember, he’d been treated as a slave to the Dursley family. His life revolved around cooking and cleaning for them; every day was a struggle to earn the right to eat and avoid a vicious beating from Vernon. 

His success rate lay somewhere in the middle- he was never outright starved, but he was also almost continuously nursing some wound.

Harry absent-mindedly rubbed at the half-healed belt mark on his ribs as he wiped up the mess kneading the bread dough had made. This particular beating had been for making ham for dinner when Vernon had wanted turkey a few nights ago. 

Occasionally, when Harry was laying alone in his cupboard, he would dream of escaping. Of picking up and leaving and never coming back.

These dreams never lasted long. Harry had no money, no education, no talent. If he left, he’d find himself on the street, bereft of even the occasional meal, hand-me-down rags, and dry place to sleep that he received here. 

Harry supposed that endless servitude and irregular beatings were a price he was willing to pay to avoid that fate. 

He put the bread in the oven and set the pot roast to cook slowly in its marinade that he made in bulk every so often, and went to collect the ingredients for breakfast. He’d decided on omelets- and started cracking eggs.

As he was removing the omelets from the pan and putting them on plates, Petunia swept into the kitchen. Harry finished arranging the omelet on the plate, and turned to face her, though he was careful not to look her in the eye. Lowly servants such as himself did not have that right.

Gaze focused on her waist, Harry said, “Breakfast is almost served Miss Petunia, if you’d just take a seat I’ll bring it to you.”

Harry could feel her sharp gaze taking in the state of the kitchen and his appearance, looking for anything she could call him out on to get him into trouble. His heart beat picked up a little as remembered the dishes still sitting in the sink from marinating the pot roast.

Petunia looked pointedly at the sink, and Harry’s heart fell, but before he could stutter out an excuse or apology, she said, “I’ll be in the dining room. You will set the table for breakfast, then come back here clean up this mess. You can forget about getting breakfast.” 

Honestly, it was a better verdict than Harry could have hoped for. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to mess up so badly, but the last time he had Petunia had left him to Vernon’s mercy. Whatever the reason, Harry was glad she’d handled it herself. 

Petunia swept out of the kitchen and into the dining room. Harry took this as his cue to bring the breakfast platters in after her. 

Following her carefully, she took her seat as he began setting the table. After he set all their plates down, he asked Petunia, “Do you need anything, or may I go get the condiments and beverages?”

Petunia pursed her lips, and Harry crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping that she allowed him to escape to the kitchen before she found something to get him trouble for- or worse, Vernon came down before he finished setting the table with breakfast.

With a sour look on her face, Petunia motioned sharply at the door to the kitchen, and Harry exhaled sharply in relief. 

Once in the kitchen, Harry collected the rest of the things that the Dursley’s would need for breakfast and made his way back to the dining room. Petunia had her nose buried in the daily newspaper- an owl must have come and dropped it off while he’d been in the kitchen, and Harry was able to deposit his load on the table and make a quick getaway.

As Harry was finishing up prep for dinner and clearing up his mess from everything, he heard something shatter in the dining where the Dursley’s were finishing up breakfast, and he felt his heart stutter for the second time that day. 

He dropped everything he was doing and rushed to the dining room, grabbing a rag as he went. 

Looking around, Harry was able to spot the mess immediately and hurried over to it, falling to his knees to gather the shards of what appeared to be a tea cup from the fine china set. 

How one of these were even being used was a mystery to Harry since he’d laid out the everyday set, but he pushed the thoughts away as cleaned the mess as quickly as he could, to the point of collecting a mass of nicks on his hands, lower arms, and legs. 

It didn’t take long for Harry to finish collecting the shards, carefully keeping his blood off anything but himself, but his efforts weren’t enough. He’d already sensed the massive presence of Vernon behind him as he cleaned the mess, but once he finished, a large hand grabbed him by his upper arm and whirled him around into the wall.

“How dare you. That was a piece of the fine china that’s been in Petunia’s family for generations and is worth more than your life,” Vernon ground out, swelling with rage and moving rapidly from a crimson red to a horrid shade of puce. 

Harry started shaking with fear, he was already bleeding and in pain, not to mention terribly bewildered at how the glass was broken, but he stayed silent. Nothing he said now would make any difference in alleviating the beating that it was clear he would now receive, and would most likely make everything that much worse for him. 

So, he stood in silence while Vernon continued his nonsensical rant, and waited with mounting heartrate for the order to go out back that preceded most beatings.

After what felt simultaneously like a decade and a second, Vernon released him and pointed in the general direction of the backdoor with a quivering finger and commanded Harry to wait for him.

Harry hoped that Vernon wouldn’t take too long to follow him out back and get it over with. While Harry wouldn’t say that he was used to being in pain, he was accustomed to it enough that the wait was the worst part. 

And perhaps Vernon knew that, for it was nearly another hour before he appeared, face once again his normal shade of carnation pink and whip in one hand, a coil of rope in the other. 

Harry had already been standing next to the tree that had been his unofficial whipping post for most of his life, and when he heard Vernon come through the door, he stripped off his shirt, turned to face the tree, and put his hands on the cross-post that he’d been made to nail to the tree at just the right height. 

Vernon then tied his hands to the post, and Harry thought absently that this may very well be the time that his hands suffered permanent damage from this whole routine when he heard Vernon grunt from the effort he exerted to pull the bonds taut.

And then, the beating began. 

Despite the frequency with which Harry experienced this horrifying routine, it never seemed easier.

He heard the whip whistling through the air, and attempted to relax his muscles and lessen the impact, but there was only so much he could do to fight his natural human instinct. Inevitably, the whip cracked against his back, and Harry sucked in a breath.

He let it out slowly as Vernon wound up again. These beatings were the worst; the ones where Vernon took his time and put all his strength behind each and every blow, resting just enough to prolong the beating by a few painful lashes.

As it always did, however, time began to blur together.

Harry felt a drop a sweat crawl down his face.

He heard a bug buzz around his back. He hoped absently that it would clear out before Vernon killed it.

He heard the whistle of the whip time and time again, heard the thud from its impact.

But it was like he wasn’t there.

It wouldn’t last for long, and as always, Harry eventually came back to himself. He nearly pierced his lip biting down it to prevent any sound from escaping; he refused to give Vernon the satisfaction of knowing how much he hurt.

He heard Vernon throw down the whip in disgust, panting heavily from effort. He moved around the tree so he could make eye contact with Harry as he said, “You’re damn lucky Petunia stepped in, else I’d have just snapped your neck for what you did, you useless, worthless freak.” 

It seemed Harry had missed Petunia’s intervention, and although he was happy he wasn’t aching more, he couldn’t quite bring himself to be thankful.

He knew he was worthless, and that he depended on their charity for the necessities of life, and he knew Petunia’s intervention hadn’t been out of any regard for him. Despite his low status in life, there were people that knew him and would notice if he went missing, and murder is murder. She just didn’t want Vernon to go to prison.

Vernon spat at Harry, luckily just missing his face, and stalked into the house. 

After a few moments of hanging from his bonds, Harry began to regret doing so much prep this morning. It’d be incredibly simple for Petunia to make meals for the rest of the day, and even for tomorrow. And since she was the one who cut him loose after these vicious sessions it could be hours, if not days, until he’d be freed. 

Given what Vernon had said about Petunia stopping him from killing Harry, he was willing to bet it’d be days before he’d be set free since he’d already used up her goodwill for the day. 

*****************************************************************

Despite the fact that the bonds had somehow loosened just the tiniest bit, enough to allow some blood flow, Harry was still inescapably trapped and unbearably uncomfortable. 

It had been at least five hours since Vernon had gone into the house, judging by the position of the sun and the noises Harry could occasionally hear from the residents of the house, and Harry was focused on fiddling with the knot by his hands, when he heard an unexpected sound: the doorbell was ringing.

Turning his attention from his hands where it’d been directed for quite some time now, Harry focused on listening as closely as he could.

Fortunately for Harry’s purposes, it was summer and every window in the house had been thrown wide open to tempt a breeze in.

After a few more rings, seemingly the mystery visitor was quite impatient, Harry heard the door open, closely followed by Petunia’s annoyed voice saying “What do you want at this hour?”

A deep voice replied, “I am here by order of the King and Queen. All eligible men and women between the ages of 17 and 22 are henceforth invited to a ball. The princess, her royal highness Ginevra Weasley, is of age and looking for a spouse among the kingdom’s citizens. The ball will commence on Saturday the 3rd of September at 8 in the evening and will last all night. The parents of the eligible bachelors and bachelorettes are also invited to attend.”

It sounded to Harry as if the poor guard delivering the message was exhausted, he was speaking faster and faster as he went, and he spoke with no inflection at all. At the conclusion, Harry heard Petunia thank the guard, and close the door. 

The next thing Harry heard was Petunia loudly telling Vernon to read something. Harry assumed that the guard must have given her a written copy of the invitation. 

A few minutes later, Harry heard Vernon order Petunia to cut the boy down, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. 

As interesting as the news had been, Harry was now more concerned than ever for his general well-being. Even though the immediate consequence of the news had been his release, the Dursley’s would surely be trying to get the Princess to marry Dudley, and when they inevitably failed, the fall out would be distinctly bad for his health.

Harry shook his head to clear it and closed his eyes to enjoy would likely be the last few calm moments he’d have for the next month.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been several weeks since the Dursley household had received the news of the ball and been turned on its head. Harry had not had a moment of rest since being cut down from the tree by Petunia; he had been kept incredibly busy taking measurements, running errands, and being a carrier pigeon for the Dursley’s and their gossip network. 

Most nights, Harry ended up falling asleep before his head hit the folded up rags he used as a pillow. Today was the first day in weeks that he had had a chance to lie on his cot under the stairs and think. Inevitably, his thoughts took him to the ball since his life had been utterly consumed by it for so long.

Harry knew it was pointless to even imagine going; the Dursley’s would die before they let him go to something so enjoyable that would simultaneously involve being seen in public with him, but he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like. He’d heard that the castle was stunning on any normal occasion, and it was sure to be even more amazing on the day that the kingdom’s beloved princess sought her life-companion.

The princess Ginevra was the youngest of seven children, but she was the only daughter that King Arthur and Queen Molly had had; Harry could only imagine the celebrations following her birth.

The King and Queen were beloved by all in the Kingdom. They believed in autonomy and choices for their subjects. Luckily for their children, this belief extended to them as well. Prince Bill, the oldest, had renounced his heirship and left to be a curse-breaker in a far-off land. Prince Charlie, the next oldest, had also renounced the heirship when it was passed to him by Prince Bill; his interests lie in caring for Dragons. 

For a while, it had seemed as though Prince Percy would be the next King of the country, but then he disappeared after a state function. The citizens only found out when his letter was published in the papers- it turned out that he had fallen in love with Crown Princess Audrey of France and they had eloped together. Since Princess Audrey was an only child, he renounced his heirship to the crown of England, and became the Prince Consort of France.

Nobody had ever seriously thought that Prince Fred or Prince George would hold onto the heirship. It had been clear since they were children that their interest lie in making people laugh, and in a move surprising no one, departed the castle to open their joke shop soon after they came of age. 

When they left, the heirship fell on Prince Ron, and he took up the mantle with grace. He was well known for his strategic mind and his fairmindedness. The citizens of England had nothing to worry about when it came time for King Arthur to pass on his crown, and it was clear from the general cheer of the country that the citizens knew that.

Because of the sheer number of Weasley’s, there was little concern about the line ending, and therefore little reason to marry Princess Ginevra off to some random Prince. Given that England was currently at peace with most of its neighbor’s, they also had no need of the treaty a marriage would provide. All this added to extraordinary freedom for the Princess to choose her mate.

Since there was clearly a ball being held and each citizen within a few years of the Princess’s age was expected to attend, it was clear that the time had come for the Princess to find her match.

He knew Hermione and Daphne were planning on going because he’d had the luck to run into Hermione when he was dropping off the Dursley’s dress robes for adjustments, and they’d taken the time they were in line to discuss the ball. Mostly, it was Daphne trying to convince Harry to try and sneak out to go, but Harry knew that it just wasn’t worth the risk of being caught to see the castle. 

For some reason, Daphne kept insisting that the Princess deserved to meet him and that by not letting him go, the Dursleys’ were somehow restricting her choices. Harry had been unable to stop himself from letting out a short laugh at that. The thought that he would even be an option for the Princess was nothing short of incredible. 

Harry knew, without a doubt in his mind, that he was utterly worthless. He wasn’t particularly smart, so it wasn’t like he’d be able to make the next great invention. He had no magical power, and all the Weasley’s- by blood or by marriage- were well-known for their magical prowess. He wasn’t attractive and he wasn’t funny, he really wasn’t all that likable, otherwise why would the Dursley’s- no he wouldn’t go down that road. 

Altogether, he had no useful skills, making him useless for anything but menial chores, and there was nothing would make him even a remote possibility for the next Prince. And even if by some chance, he happened to meet the Princess, he would never want to be considered. She deserved better than him, and so did the nation.

Harry rolled over so he was facing the spot on the wall where his hand-drawn picture of the palace would be- he had never seen it himself, but he had liked to imagine it as a child, and heaved a sigh. It was rare even in ordinary times that he allowed himself to be so self-absorbed.

He supposed that all the thoughts had built up, and honestly, it didn’t hurt him that much to let himself think them, here in the privacy of his cupboard. 

Harry sighed again. He was sad that he wouldn’t get to be at the ball; it was certain to be fun and magical and everything his everyday life was not. 

A few seconds later, Harry realized that going to the ball didn’t necessarily have to entail meeting the Princess. It wouldn’t hurt anyone if he were to slip out of the house after the Dursley’s left. And it would get Daphne, and Hermione since it was clear she agreed with Daphne, off his back for refusing to even try.

Harry rolled onto his back and stared blankly upwards. Could he do it? Probably, yes. Could he do it without being caught? Less likely, but still possible. Could he live with consequences of being caught? Harry shuddered and reached out a gentle hand to glance off the picture on the wall. Yes. He could live with the consequences.

It was decided then. Harry would go to the ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter, I will try to update soon! Please, please review!!!


	3. Chapter 3

A few days after Harry’s bout of introspection, he had a chance to follow up on his decision. He had received notice that the Dursley’s robes had been adjusted and were ready for pick up earlier in the day, and he was now on his way to town. 

On his way to the tailor’s, Harry stopped in the bookstore to see if Hermione and Daphne were in. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t risk such a delay angering the Dursley’s, but as the ball drew nearer, the Dursley’s tended to pay less attention to him.

Of course, those times that they did pay attention tended to end worse for him than usual, Harry thought, rubbing his aching ribs ruefully.

Pushing open the door, Harry couldn’t help but feel out of place. The walls of the bookstore were lined from floor to ceiling with shelves crammed with books. The air smelled faintly of old books and the air was filled with flutter of pages turning. As Harry stepped inside, the heads of the few patrons all turned to look at him, and Harry felt as if he were trespassing.

The moment passed, and Harry walked as quietly as he could manage to the counter and whispered, “Excuse me, Mr. Granger, is Hermione around? And Daphne?” 

“You know, son, you don’t have to whisper. And I’ve definitely told you to call me Dan. But, they are here, and I’ll just call them down for you.” Mr. Granger said with a kind smile at Harry, before he disappeared through an unobtrusive door behind the counter.

Harry sighed with relief. He really wished physically imposing men didn’t make him as anxious as they did, but Mr. Granger was very tall and Harry couldn’t help his reaction. 

A few minutes later, Hermione and Daphne burst out of the door. Hermione immediately jumped Harry, grabbing him into a very painful embrace. Doing his best to hide his grimace, Harry gently plied her arm’s off him.

Before Daphne could say something, and to distract Hermione from the hurt from his rejection that was beginning to show on her face, Harry said, “Listen, the Dursley’s robes are ready for pick-up, and I need to go pick them up, but everybody knows the line to pick up robes is ages long, so I thought we could hang out while I picked them up?” 

“Yeah that sounds great! Our robes are ready for pick-up too, so we can grab ours at the same time” Daphne exclaimed happily, though she gave him a look that clearly said she hadn’t forgotten the rejected hug.

Hermione ran behind the counter, and Harry and Daphne could hear her muffled yell, “Hey Dad! Daphne and I are going with Harry to the tailor’s, we’ll be back soon!”

She burst back through the door, and grabbed their arms to drag them towards the door. “I know the Dursley’s probably didn’t let you come here, so we should hurry there, but while we’re walking we can talk and catch up,” Hermione said with a rush.

“Well I really don’t have much to catch you up on,” Harry said, letting go of Hermione’s hand and catching the bookstore door as he walked through to prevent it from slamming, “But I’d love to hear what’s been going on in your lives!”

Daphne gave Hermione a coy look and slipped her hand into Hermione’s, “Well, one interesting development is that we both now have dates.” 

Harry shot them a sideways look, but before he could respond, they arrived at the tailor’s which was just down the street from the bookstore. The shop itself was tiny, so there was little room to wait inside. At least, that’s what Harry told himself as he looked at the incredibly long line, because if it were any longer than it appeared, he was going to be in massive trouble with the Dursley’s. 

Queueing up behind the last person in line, Harry shoved these thoughts out of his mind, and turned his gaze back to Hermione and Daphne’s clasped hands. Smirking a little, Harry said, “I see you’ve finally admitted your feelings for each other.”

“Yeah. Yeah I would say we have,” Hermione said with a wide grin on her face, “But, as exciting as our development is, you know we want to hear if you’ve decided to go to the ball.”

Looking around, Harry saw that everybody was clearly distracted, and that nobody was listening. In a hushed voice, Harry said, “Look, I gave it some thought, and it wouldn’t hurt for me to at least go. But I have no idea how I’m going to do it yet. I need robes and a way to get there at the very least.”

Harry, Hermione, and Daphne began shooting ideas back and forth as the line slowly drew nearer to the shop entrance. The ideas varied from the absolutely ridiculous, complete a rain ritual to turn dirt into silk that Daphne thought she remembered hearing about, to the straight up illegal, steal all the materials and a broomstick to ride to the castle.

Harry rejected just about everything Hermione and Daphne came up with, but one thing they did agree on was that it would almost certainly be easier for Harry to get his hands on the materials for the robes and make them himself than it would be for him to find an already complete set of robes. 

Finally, the trio reached the shop entry. As Harry had hoped, the line did begin at the door. Taking the last few steps to reach the counter and desperately avoiding eye contact, Harry said, “I’m, uh, here to pick up some um, robes for the D-Dursley’s.” 

The guy behind the counter gave Harry a kind smile, and said “Sure thing, I believe I just saw them,” before she disappeared into the back.

Harry absolutely hated interacting with strangers. He got terrible anxiety that anyone he was speaking to would discover how badly he was treated at the Dursley’s. It wasn’t illegal or anything, that wasn’t what he was worried about. He was worried about his treatment being discovered and everyone in town knowing what they did to him, and deciding that he clearly deserved to be treated like that. 

His worst nightmare was everyone he interacted with treating him like the Dursley’s did.

As his mind involuntarily spiraled to darker and darker thoughts, his breathing and heart rate sped up. Hermione and Daphne shared a concerned look, and Hermione gently grasped Harry’s hand and led him outside the shop. They sat down on a nearby bench away from all the people queued up, and just sat quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys hope you enjoyed this one! I know the chapters have been kinda short, but I figured it was better to give y'all something rather than horde my writing, and anyways, the reviews I get motivate me to write more faster. (that was me asking for reviews btw, please tell me what you think!)


	4. Chapter 4

Inside the shop, Daphne had a fantastic idea. With Harry out of the way, she would be able to ask the shop assistant if they had any leftover material that she could either have or buy for cheap. Regardless of how much she paid for it, she would still tell Harry that it was free because otherwise he wouldn’t accept it.

Honestly, it was still going to be difficult to get him to take the material, assuming she got any. Harry absolutely hated charity, but the situation was important enough that Daphne thought they had a chance of getting him to accept a little help, just this once. 

Seconds later, the shop assistant came back through the door way with his arms full of opulent looking robes. “Did you see where that young man went?” the shop assistant asked peering around Daphne as if trying to see if Harry were hiding behind her. 

“He stepped outside for a second and asked me to pick up the robes for him. I’m also here to pick up the robes for the Greengrass’s,” Daphne said.

“Well here’s these robes, and let me just pop back and grab the other ones for you,” he said, turning to go back through the door.

“Wait!” Daphne exclaimed, “Do you happen to have any scrap materials back there? Only, Harry, the young man I was with, wants to go to the ball, but he can’t afford robes because his relatives don’t treat him very well.” She gave the shop keeper a significant look and raised her hand to fix her hair, hesitating with her hand over her eye just long enough to remind him of the fading bruise on Harry’s face.

The man put his hand over his chest and tsked, “Of course I can find some spare material for the poor lad, we have lots extra from all the robes we’ve had commissioned for the ball. Here let me grab your robes for the Greengrass’s and scrounge up some spare material.”

“Thank you so so much,” Daphne said with a relieved smile, “I can pay you something for the material, if you need me to.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” the man called over his shoulder as he disappeared through the door, “We have lots of scraps back here that we’d just throw out.”

Daphne breathed a sigh of relief, relieved that her idea had panned out. She felt a small pang of guilt about spreading Harry’s business without his permission, but after a moment’s consideration decided that it really was the best for him the long run. Especially since the shop assistant couldn’t exactly do anything with the information; it wasn’t like anyone knew who Harry is. 

As Daphne was starting to get a bit impatient, the robes she was holding weren’t exactly light given the size of human they were designed to cover, the shop assistant reappeared with the Greengrass robes and some simple yet elegant looking dark green material. 

“Here’s the material for that poor lad, I hope the color’s alright, I chose it because I thought it’d bring out the color in his eyes,” the shop assistant said handing Daphne the material along with the robes.

“Thank you so much, are you absolutely certain you don’t want any payment?” Daphne asked, she didn’t want to risk him changing his mind at some point and causing trouble for Harry. 

“No, really it’s okay, that lad was so polite and we’ve made a killing here because of the ball anyways, we can easily afford to donate a bit of material to such a worthy cause. I hope y’all have a good time at the ball!”

Daphne signed the release form for both the Greengrass’s and the Dursley’s in Harry’s stead and gratefully bid the shop assistant a hasty farewell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha bet yall thought i was dead! i am mostly actually, but i remembered this story existed and was in the ~mood~ in the middle finals so here's a very short unedited chapter! honestly no promises about when i update- it might be next week, it might be next year, but I highly doubt I'll ever abandon this fic entirely because I do love writing it even if it's hard sometimes anywhomst tell me what yall think in the reviews! i love getting feedback with all my heart!


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione swung around to check for Daphne for what felt like the hundredth time, giving Harry’s hand yet another squeeze. She desperately wanted to get out of there because she knew Harry hated feeling like a spectacle, and they got such limited time together as it was that she couldn’t help but feel that helping Harry through a panic attack was a waste of their precious time together.

Not that she blamed him for having them, it was just frustrating to feel time slipping through her fingers as the moment when Harry would inevitably have to go back to those horrid Dursleys drew nearer.

Checking behind her yet again, Hermione’s heart leapt as she saw Daphne hurry out of the store, her arms over loaded with garment bags and fabric.

“Help me with this stuff, will you?” Daphne asked arriving next to Hermione and Harry’s bench. 

Harry jumped up from his seat, and Hermione gratefully followed. 

“Here why don’t you set everything on the bench here and we can sort it all to make sure we don’t have any mix-ups,” Hermione said, brushing off a bit of dust from the edge of the bench.

There were three piles on the bench when Harry, Hermione, and Daphne had finished sorting everything. Hermione knew that one pile was obviously for the Dursleys and one was for the Greengrasses, so the third pile that was just dark green fabric along with some black scraps that could not be more obviously meant for Harry’s outfit. 

Locking eyes with Daphne, Hermione snatched up the pile of the Dursleys robes at the same time that Daphne grabbed her family’s. Harry paused then grabbed the fabric since it was the only pile left on the bench.

“Um, Hermione, you uh grabbed my pile,” Harry said hesitantly looking at the oversized garment bags that clearly held robes for Dudley and Vernon. 

Daphne smiled at him and said, “Oh that’s because you’ve got to carry your robes, Harry”

Harry looked confusedly down at the pile of fabric in his arms, but before he could say anything, Hermione cut in, “Daphne obviously must have asked the tailor for scraps; they must have given you to make robes out of to wear to the ball.”

Glancing back down, Harry felt a deep wave of gratitude for his friends wash over him. They’d taken one of his biggest worries about going to the ball, his attire, and just solved it for him. 

He was quite experienced with making his own clothes, or at least modifying Dudley’s behemoth clothing to fit him, so making dress robes oughtn’t be too difficult. He even already had some ideas for what he wanted it to look like and how to get started.

Looking back up, Harry caught the angle of the shadows out of the corner of his eye and panicked. Snatching the Dursleys’ robes out of Hermione’s arms he took off towards the Dursley’s house. “I have to go,” he called back to Daphne and Hermione over his shoulder, “I’m so late!” 

***

Hermione slowly lowered her arms from where they’d been extended to hold the Dursley’s robes and watched Harry dash off. She hated when he had to leave in a hurry like that because she always felt guilty for having kept him and that whatever the Dursleys did to him was somewhat her fault because Harry wouldn’t be so late if not for her.

Turning to face Daphne who was standing beside her, Hermione opened her mouth to worry about Harry, but before she could, Daphne said, “You know we’ve been over this a million times, you have no culpability for what those demons do to Harry” 

A ghost of a smile crossed Hermione’s face at this reminder of how well Daphne knew her, but her guilt persisted. “And you know that I think there ought to be something I can do for him, find some legal loophole to get him out of there, raise the money to buy his freedom, something!” 

Daphne grasped Hermione’s shoulders, “You know you’ve been through the books a million times Hermione. While Harry’s not technically a servant the Dursley’s can claim him as one, making the chores he’s forced to complete payment for their care,” Daphne practically spat the word before continuing on, “We know the Royal Family has been trying to pass laws regarding the treatment of children and servants, but they’ve had to be careful to not move too quickly lest they upset the airbags that the Royal Council is made of, so the beatings Harry gets are still perfectly legal punishment, especially given that they can’t just dock his pay the way most servants are punished. And if Harry complains about it he’s now too old for the orphanage, and the Dursley’s made damn sure he has no marketable talents. He’d be sentenced to a life on the streets. And there’s only such we could do for him since we’re still minors ourselves.” 

Hermione had been despondently nodding throughout Daphne’s speech, she already knew all this, and while it depressed her to hear how hopeless Harry’s situation was, it did help to absolve her of some of the guilt she was feeling. She gave Daphne a heartfelt hug of thanks, she always knew just to say to help her feel better.

Smiling hopefully, Hermione said, “And hey maybe Harry will catch the eye of Princess Ginevra at the ball and get out of there, he is after all quite attractive.”

***

“You useless, ugly bastard, where the hell have you been,” Petunia demanded looking as though she would already have slapped him were he within reach. Harry disregarded the insults as he always did, they were true enough after all.

Harry carefully laid the robes, now stripped of their protective shells, beside Petunia, stepping away from her hastily. He crossed his fingers behind is back, hoping the robes were acceptable, because if they weren’t he’d have to modify them himself, leaving no time for him to make his own robes from the material now carefully hidden in his cupboard. He was grateful in a slightly bitter way that the Dursley’s disdain for him had led them to shoving away in a cupboard, because if he’d been given a proper bedroom there was no way he’d have been able to properly hide the material.

Petunia leaned down to carefully inspect each robe. With each passing second, Harry’s tension mounted higher. Petunia’s pursed lips could mean frustration at the loss of a chance to reprimand Harry or distaste for the robe quality, it was impossible to tell. Unless…sometimes when he was desperate enough he managed to hear something that sounded a lot like Petunia’s, or Vernon’s, thoughts. He usually convinced himself that it was his imagination, but sometimes Harry liked to pretend he had a latent talent for magic.

It was impossible of course, when he’d turned 11 he hadn’t received a letter inviting him to train his magic at the exclusive institute of Hogwarts where all young magicals in England went to learn. And that was it for that particular fantasy. 

“These are acceptable,” Petunia said effectively snapping Harry out of his thoughts. Harry imperceptibly sighed in relief, but before he could truly relax, Petunia continued, “there is still the matter of the time you wasted by dilly-dallying in town, however. There are many chores you were supposed to complete today sitting undone, and you will have to be punished for your laziness. When Vernon gets home he will see to your punishment, but until he’s home you will make up for lost time. Luckily for you, I already prepared dinner so there will be no need for you to go into the kitchen until tomorrow.”

Harry smoothed a neutral mask over his features as fear and anger set in. She’d planned this. She never prepared meals unless it was to remove his excuse for going into the kitchen and therefore his ability to sneak food for himself. 

Turning to leave the room, Harry thought longingly of the scrap materials he’d have no time to work on today, and accepted the fact that tonight would be spent in hunger and pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See! I'm not dead! As always, no guarantees for when the next chapter will be up, but I swear I won't abandon this fic. Please please let me know what you think (reviews motivate me to write faster ;) !)


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